


Before the Dam Breaks

by Bellsastuff



Category: Hockey RPF, Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awkward dudes, F/F, F/M, Hockey Puns, M/M, Shameless Nerdiness, Slow Burn, tragic backstories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 09:51:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5201456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellsastuff/pseuds/Bellsastuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sidney Crosby is the most promising and gifted Jedi prodigy in a hundred generations, but with the resurgence of the Sith and war on the horizon, he does not have the strength to keep the force in balance. An adopted Mandalorian, a failed Padawan turned smuggler, and a motley mercenary crew join him to avenge his master, find the hidden answers to clear his name and prevent the Sith from destroying the Order and the Order from destroying itself. Will Sidney and his unlikely crew be enough to save the Jedi and the galaxy? Only truth can save them all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before the Dam Breaks

**Author's Note:**

> The setting for this fic is in the Star Wars universe. I don't really adhere to timelines because there's just so damned much to keep track of, so I am very sorry if anything is jarring in that sense.

Evgeni was born the second time from blood and fury and it that had been the birth that had mattered most. Time smeared the details of his memories of life in the underground caverns of Magnitka, and they seemed like bits of a dream that fell away upon waking. He had parents and an older brother. His parents had worked in the beskar smelting mills that stank, ensuring everyone would inevitably develop of wracking cough, but he can still remember the feeling of his mother's dirty fingers running over his cheek if he thinks back hard enough. Life had been hard and he remembers a gnawing hunger that was so familiar as to not be a concern. His sharpest memory is of a time when he snuck away from the town and climbed up to one of the hangar bays. The cold sting of the eternally wintry wind of the world above. He remembers the feel and smell; how it felt like clean and bright as the stars he knew were in the sky above.

But those memories were pleasant ones that he made himself keep. His strongest memories of Magnitka come from the the day of blood and his rebirth. The Sith had come to the small industrial outpost, in what he'd later learn was a reprisal for some diplomatic misstep, and with them had come annihilation. Evgeni had obediently ran and hid in one of the many hidey holes that he found with his brother, and listened to the sounds of screams and gun fire as smoke began to fill Magnitka. Evgeni had bitten down on this shirt collar and shook as he waited the eternity that seemed to pass, until the sound stopped raging against the cavernous walls.

On legs that seemed too shaky to support him, Evgeni ran through the narrow streets of his neighborhood, trying his best to block out the carnage around him. Why he had somehow expected to find his family safe and protected in their tiny apartment, Evgeni could not explain, except to point out that he'd been barely eight years old at the time. But the slaughterhouse that he found in what had been a home broke a part of Evgeni. He had died in that moment. And as a revenant, it was his duty to haunt the living.

That was his excuse for charging the nearest shock trooper that he could see. A fine red mist had settled over his vision and fire licked through his veins until all that he knew was everyone needed to be dead, and that he would be the one to do it. And if the gun the trooper was raising would fire, so be it. Evgeni was already gone.

What he had not expected was how the trooper's chest suddenly blossomed with carmine, the armor split open as a blast sheared over Evgeni's shoulder. That was the first man that he would see die, and the sound as he fell seemed to fill the cavern, louder than any of the yells or gunshots. His ears still rang as a set of armored arms scooped him up and carried him to a transport vehicle, filled with armored figures with helmets that Evgeni dimly thought were Mandalorian. He had gone limp by the time his savior sat him down, eyelids almost too heavy to watch as the soldier removed his helmet to show a blonde man at least ten years older than him with eyes that held a concern that seemed suffocating.

"Dumb kid." The man muttered as Evgeni let his the back of his head slump against the cool metal walls of the ship. "But a brave one, at least. You have a name?"

Evgeni frowned at that. Did he have a name? He had been Evgeni, but surely Evgeni was gone by now, as ruined as the bloodsoaked tablecloth that his mother had adored. He tried to explain that, but his voice had become as ghostlike as the rest of him. His words came out as a rush of syllables that hardly represented words.

"Geno?" The man guessed, looking as baffled as the soldiers that crowded around them on the transport. "Geno will work, I guess. I'm Gonchar, yeah?"

Evgeni stared at the man, unable to stop the shivers that had snuck up on him as the last of the red mist left him. He dimly knew that he should probably be worried about that, especially after seeing the looks of the armored men and women around him. As well as how hastily he was wrapped up in blankets, but he had over things to worry about. If Evgeni had died in Magnitka but the ship was moving away from the snowy planet, then who was he? He could feel the bench under him and the coarse texture of the blankets. He looked at Gonchar and studied the blood on his armor and the hidden power in the phaser at his side. And he knew then, with a child's blind certainty, that he would be like this man. He would be Geno. And he would be Mandalorian.

 

* * *

 

 

The marketplace was bustling with people and Phil hated it. He understood why it was so busy, Coruscant had taken on it's lion's share of refugees, but he couldn't help but grit his teeth as the crowds around him jostled for position as customers kept the stall keepers busy with their haggling. His Master would gently reprimand him if he saw Phil's reaction and repeat that there was no reason to hide his padawan braid and not clearly wear his lightsaber on his hip, but his Master wasn't here so Phil would do as he pleased. And that meant wearing his most nondescript robes and keeping his lightsaber hidden in an inner pocket. It also meant that he wasn't afforded the respect inherent in the identity of a fledgling member of the Jedi Order but, the anonymity was well worth it.

Or at least that was what he told himself as he went to fetch Master Suter's list of supplies for their upcoming diplomatic mission.

Contrary to what many in his Order thought, Phil didn't dislike people. He liked them fine. He was simply preferred to speak with them one on one or in small groups, not in a position where all eyes were upon him. Despite his efforts at letting the Force speak through him, his words always seemed to skew themselves somehow and after enough attempts, he'd accepted that he was just not cut out to be the type of Jedi who appealed to the masses. And he was fine with that. There was still plenty of room for him with the Knights, especially given his ease with his saber and his talent behind the cockpit of a ship. He simply needed to get past all of the annoying bullshit and then his time would come when he could settle into a position as a specialist and do what he was good at.

He just needed to get off of Corsucant first. The Jedi were too visible here and for all that Master Suter seemed to see that Phil was more than an awkward guy, the politicians that Phil had to work with didn't seem to ever think he was good enough. He didn't blame them all that much, they were right after all, but the rolls of their eyes whenever he approached one about a new agreement that his Master was working on were starting to wear on Phil. Still, he had to leave Corsucant eventually and surely they'd let him do what he was actually good at.

But really, the crowds were starting to get to be a little bit much. He swallowed down the feelings of annoyance that boiled under the surface, forcing them down as he made his mind go blank and clear. With a whisper soft touch, he kept a bit of of the Force with him, letting his heart rate ease as he felt the hum of the world from his spot in the market.

The shout was what had startled him. He knew that someone had yelled and that there had been something familiar about it but he couldn't quite pin down what was said or even why it mattered. But he let go of the Force and begrudgingly peered around, hoping he hadn't been sticking out too badly.

"Phil!" The voice came again and Phil pivoted to his right as he followed the sound. His heart pounded in his chest as he finally reached the edge of the crowd and saw, for the first time in eleven years, his little brother. Blake was unmistakeable, even though he'd changed so much and gotten so damned tall, taller even than Phil. And then there was Amanda, her hair greasy and dirty now when it had always been so well kept when they were younger, but he was sure he'd know those eyes anywhere. Any words he may have had choked in his throat, leaving him unable to do anything more than reach out and pull them both in close to his chest, all the while marvelling that they were physical and actually there.

Blake had been five years old when the Jedi Order had shown up to their parent's house in Madis with the news that their son was highly sensitive to the Force and asked, with a great deal of delicacy, if they would consider releasing their seven year old eldest son to the Order to be trained. Blake had tried to stay as stoic as their father but Amanda, then only three, was a sobbing mess as she attached herself to Phil like an Eosian octopus. He'd made her every promise back then, telling her that he would be back to visit and that it wasn't like she'd never see him again. Phil had thought he was telling the truth. After all, he loved his siblings even when Blake was being annoying or Amanda was being needy. The thought of never seeing them again was impossible.

He spent the first three years at the temple believing that the letters would come. He sent enough to them that there was no way that they could forget about him, and he even sent little trinkets that he found that he thought they'd like. But a response never came and Phil tried to move on like he figured they must have.

But now, here they were. They were on Corsucant, of all places, and he could feel the sharp edges of their shoulderblades and vertebrae. "Where's Mom and Dad?" He asked, embarrassed with how the pitch of voice went up, but he couldn't help the way his chest had tightened.

Blake looked down to his feet but Amanda, just as bright as he remembered, met Phil's eyes. "Dead." She said, not bothering to cushion it for him. "The S23 plague hit Madis, we told in you in the letters. In all, I don't know, all hundred of them? I know that you're some big shot Jedi now but you couldn't even bother to reply to any of the letters? We lost the house and you just... didn't care? Really?!"

"Amanda!" Blake hissed but Phil's hand flew up in a calming gesture, the training he'd been given coming up instinctively. "Whoa, wait. You sent letters? I haven't got anything from you guys, not since I was brought to the Temple. I sent you a bunch of them but I never got any back."

"Of course we tried to get ahold of you." Amanda said through gritted teeth. "You're our brother, aren't you?"

"We never got any letters." Blake added, brows furrowed in a way that Phil recognized from his memories of their father and his chest ached in response. "We never got anything back. Ever. Mom and Dad asked if we could visit you and uh. They said it wouldn't be good for your training so after a while they kinda stopped asking."

Phil rocked back onto his heels as he sucked in a breath, trying to keep his mind blank despite the anger that had started to seep under his composure. "They... they must have not sent my letters." He finally breathed out, "And they must not have given me yours. Force save us, that's-" He stopped, mind going too fast as things settled into place in his mind.

Of course. How had he not seen this before? The trainers had always preached that a Jedi was better off without ties outside the Order. Emotion was dangerous in the hands of a Force Sensitive person, as passion could easily lead to fear and anger and into the calling upon of the Dark. He'd never thought of his family as a potentially dangerous relationship but surely Jedi had fallen from the Light after a family member was hurt. The idea of isolating Phil from his family and old life made sense, in a brutally cold way.

But the isolation wasn't their choice to make. It should have belonged to him. He should have been able to look at the options and decide for himself about what bonds he was willing to risk having. His skin itched at the depth of deception that he had lived in for eleven years. "What are you guys going to do?" He asked, a little ashamed with how quiet his voice had gone.

Amanda's cheeks were still flushed and she looked ready to snap at him, but Blake spoke first. "Try and find work. I can do some mechanical work and Amanda can fly a ship really well. Maybe see if a crew will take us on, eh? We've still got some credits left-"

"Barely." Amanda butted in. "Blake hasn't eaten in about a day because he keeps being dumb and giving all of his food to me."

"I don't need it." Blake snapped and gave her a look. "I'm going to find work soon anyway and you were complaining."

"Ugh, you are such a liar." She hissed, turning to Phil. "Seriously, he is such a pain."

"And you're still a brat." Phil responded, just barely able to dodge her smack and completely unable to stop grinning. "I guess some things don't really change."

She wrinkled her nose and he could see her trying not pout and the feeling of familiarity hit him all over again.

And then, just like that, Phil's mind was made up. Just like that. He pressed the creds that Master Suter had given him into Blake's hand and tried to keep his voice from cracking as he said, "Go get some food. No junk food or whatever, just stuff that'll keep. Rations, if you can get 'em. Meet me by Hangar 20A in the Northwest Seer's district, I know a guy there and I'll meet you there as soon as I can, okay?"

"You'll show up?" Amanda asked, face dubious.

"Yeah." He muttered, messing up her hair. "I'm gonna be here for you guys this time. I promise."

 

* * *

 

 

Kris hated the taste of Twi'lek blood. Humans at least had the decency to have a coppery taste that he didn't mind so much, but Twi'lek's had a mildew like undertone that he couldn't stand. He'd really prefer not to have to taste it again. But it wasn't exactly like he had a choice in the matter.

"Thaaaaaat's right, it's fight night in Jubilar!" The announcer crowed and Kris dutifully lifted a clawed hand upwards as the crowds surrounding the sand pit erupted into a mass of cheers, jeers and calls for blood. The pair of Twi'lek's across the sands, each armed with a pair of nasty looking bone knives, shifted uneasily at the ruckus above them and Kris let a smirk curl across his face. "They aren't used to fights this big." He rumbled.

Perron let out a sigh from his standard place behind Kris, staff idly moved back and forth through the dirty sand at their feet. "Great." He said, voice dry. "What are we fighting this time?"

"Twi'leks, of course. Their owner probably just brought them here, probably desperate for a big payout but one of them smells like they have a cold, the one on the right. Stupid to fight them up against us first off." Kris looked up to the crowd and ran a hand defiantly though his long black mane. Shero would be annoyed that Kris refused to braid his hair or at least pull it back but Kris didn't give a shit. Let his opponent try to get a hold of it to gain an advantage, Kris would bite their damned hand off for trying. Besides, Shero didn't say anything about Perron's hood, but that was likely because the empty sockets that should hold Perron's eyes tended to freak people out.

That was Shero's own fault for buying a Miralukan slave though. Their best guess was that their owner had put them together with the intention of selling fights with Kris with a perceived handicap but for all that Perron lacked eyes, he wasn't exactly blind. Perron had tried to explain how he 'saw' cosmic force auras around things but Kris hadn't given it much thought. What mattered was the fact that Perron thrown himself into fighting with everything he had and had worked damned hard to be able to compliment Kris and not hold him back. Not too much, at least.

He’d miss Perron when he died. Which would be eventually, as the life of an enslaved gladiator was not a long one, a fact proven by the rotating cast of characters who Kris had fought with before. But at least he had Perron for now.

“Scratch my back with a hacksaw folks, but do we ever have a good matchup for you tonight.” Lange’s voice boomed over the audience, causing Kris to straighten out his shoulders as he prepared for his introduction.

“From Jubilar herself, we have your reigning champions in the south corner! Perron the Blind and Kris the Cathar have really been tearing it up in the sands folks, I tell you what! Saw them take out a rancor and Kris was grinning like a butcher’s dog by the end, Cathar or not! And for those new folks, you are not imagining things, Kris fights weaponless! That’s right, get ready to see the deadliest pair of teeth and claws to ever touch the sands because that boy is brutal.”

Kris bared his teeth to the crowd, letting the roar of the crowd settle under his skin. He grinned at the Twi’leks, not even bothering to listen to Lange or even Perron until the gong sounded and he was off.

The sand burned under his bare feet as the sun baked down but Kris always fought barefoot. Any improvement in traction was worth it, and that advantage proved useful yet again as he was at the left Twi’lek in a matter of moments, Perron not far behind. The Twi’lek wasn’t terrible with his knives, but he telegraphed his movements as loudly as if he was verbally telling Kris that he was about to make a lunge. It was laughable, really.

Sometimes he wished for fights that were at least a little more difficult, for him at least. He preferred for Perron to have an easy win but for Kris himself, the only time his mind seemed to shut up was when he was deep into a lust for blood. When he was fighting, he didn’t have to think about Cath. He didn’t have to think about his son or the site of their burned out home or how he’d fought through the slaver’s tranquilizer darts as long as he could to try and find what was left of his family. Kris’ ghosts only went away in the ring, and for as much as it disgusted him and worried Perron, he loved it.

He disarmed the Twi’lek with pathetic ease and watched it panic as it kept scrabbling for the knives only to have them kicked away. Kris loved the look on it’s face, all panic and realization that nothing about this would end well. In desperation, it tried to come at him, only to have Kris’ sharp teeth sink into one of the lekku that draped off it's head. The Twi’lek screamed in pain and staggered to its feet, a luxury that Kris let it have as he prowled and watched his prey.

With a sharp crack, Perron’s staff found it’s way to the back of his opponent’s skull and his voice hissed across the sands. “Stop playing with him, you asshole.” Perron growled, striding over with his shoulders up.

Kris wasn’t about ready to let Perron have both of the kills so he sprung forward and wrapped his clawed fingers around the Twi’lek’s throat, tearing the jugular open with a savage yank of his claws. And just like that, the ghosts were back, and all Kris was left with was the taste of moldy blood in his mouth and wary space from Perron.

Perron still hadn’t spoken again once they were back in their cell and presented with a better than average meal of stew and only slightly stale bread rolls. Kris rolled words around in his mouth as he tried to put together something, anything to say, but it was, unsurprisingly, difficult to defend giving someone a slow death. He’d thought that he had a solid idea until voices began to filter in from the hall and they both had to hurry to finish their meals. Shero had brought guests by after good wins and the zoo like aspect of it often meant that by the time they were gone, their food had gone cold. They’d both learned the ways of the master in a hurry and it served them well.

However, the two men who came in with the jailer were not Shero’s normal kind of friends. For one thing, Kris would have bet credits on the fact that an Omwati would have no interest in Jubilar, much less in a pair of gladiator slaves. He’d always considered them to be more of the type to never leave a library or a machine shop. And to see one here next to a Chiss, of all things, seemed even more inane. The Chiss didn’t leave their cozy little territory unless they were military, and there was no way that either of the men in front of him could be military. And they were both very blue. Literally. “The fuck?” He managed as he stared them both down.

The Chiss only laughed, a surprisingly earnest sound that seemed to suit his features, from his bushy eyebrows to his dark eyes and wide smile. “I know, eh?” The man said with more perkiness than was likely necessary.

The Omwati snorted, the black feathers on his scalp fluttering slightly as he eyed Kris with wide eyes. “Holy crap, you’re huge. Not too tall, but shit. Stacked. Duper, remind me again why we went through with the bet?”

The Chiss, Duper apparently, shrugged thoughtfully. “Because we could? And you can’t deny that a Cathar could be handy to have around. But does he shed? That could be a pain. Hey, do you shed? We could get you a brush or something. Most cats I’ve met like brushes.”

“Maybe it’s a seasonal thing?” The Omwati theorized.

“Probably. But would seasons matter that much in the world of intergalactic space travel? I mean, if you don’t like the summer, no big deal. Just get on a ship and whoosh, you can be in a nice cold climate again with no worries.”

Kris blinked, then let out a growl. “Shero lost a bet to you two?”

The Omwati brightened. “He sure did! Really, he has a very bad poker face. It was too easy. But don’t worry, you’ll like us.”

When Kris looked back, Perron was sitting as still as Kris had ever seen him, back rigid in tension and Kris let out a growl. “I’m going nowhere without Perron.” He warned, lowering his voice to brook no argument.

“Not a problem!” Duper said as he raised his hands in a placating gesture. “We won you both. Not sure what we’re going to do with a Miralukan but hey, we’re an eclectic bunch.”

“And this way Talbo won’t be the only non blue guy. It’ll be good for him.”

“Absolutely.” Duper said with a nod before brightening yet again. “Oh! I’m Duper, this is Flower, founding members of the Blue Crew, also known as the finest mercenary group in a part of the Outer Rim that has no other mercenary groups, which automatically makes us the best. So if you’ll pardon us, we should probably make a run for it before Shero tries to kill us. Jailer, if you would be so kind?”

As the jailer opened the cell door, Kris stared at the floor outside the cell and then finally back at Perron. In his typical eerie manner, Perron had quirked his head to seem as though he was staring into Kris' eyes. When Kris shrugged in question, the side of Perron's lip quirked up in a quick smile. "Not like they could be any worse than this place. Worth a shot."

 

* * *

 

 

Phil had felt so sure of himself on the way back to the dormitory. The certainty that his decision was the right one propelled him, making him almost eager as he considered the idea of a new life. For the first time in years he could have anonymity again. He could finally leave Corsucant and the weight of expectations that he wasn't sure he could live up to. Freedom had never seemed so possible.

Even when he was finally in their shared room, with Master Suter thankfully absent, Phil had managed to keep his excitement. He dove into his tool kit right away, finding his wire cutters right away as he moved to the tiny mirror above the wash basin. With the cutters in hand, he'd had every intention of cutting his braid off in one big dramatic gesture with no hesitation or concern. And that was just what he did, but the enormity of his action didn't sink in until he looked down to find his braid in his hands and the enormity of his decision came rushing back to him.

The braid had been growing for six years, starting as a bare tuft at the nape of his neck that was hardly long enough to even put a tie around. By the point that he held the braid in his hands, he could see a map of his life so far in the strands. Red and yellow thread looped near the base signaled his ascension into a level of mastery in piloting, now a few years old, and his ascension to mastery in the use of his saber, having only been achieved a year ago. A few inches up from the end, lighter strands of hair had been provided by Master Suter himself, still bright against Phil's own dirty blonde hair. And in the middle, where his braid had been singed during a diplomatic mission gone terribly wrong, Suter had wrapped his own hair around the singed follicles as a way of apology for not having prevented the balefire from slamming into Phil's side. Up just a bit from that was a tiny bead of silvery blue, a chip that had come off when Phil had found the Durindefire crystal that he later used for his lightsaber.

He could try to braid it back into his hair. But Suter would notice in a few months when he went to rebraid it and the questions would be too much to bear. And anyway, where would Blake and Amanda be then, he reasoned. With shaking hands, he stepped over to Suter's bed and gently lay the braid onto his pillow. Suter would have been presented with the braid when Phil had ascended to a full Jedi Knight and his braid had been removed properly by Suter's own lightsaber, but this would have to do for now. As he stepped back, he tried to shake the nausea out of his head. He'd thought this moment would be triumphant. That he'd throw the braid down and show the Order he couldn't be controlled. But all he felt was ill.

Packing was easy. The Jedi did not have possessions as a rule, so the amount of knick knacks that Phil had amassed (and Suter had tolerated) were few. He had a small flint knife and his toolbox, as well as a small carved dog that he'd found on a long abandoned moon and liked to keep in his pockets during long Senate sessions. There were also the collection of crystals that he'd squirrelled away with vague ideas of new lightsabers and those he made sure to take. The Anzero's sapphire could pay for a racer for Amanda, provided they found one that was in enough disrepair but not so much that Blake couldn't fix it.

The fitful starts of plans began to unfurl in his mind as the possibilities of his new life began to finally become visible. He was grateful for them as he slipped out of his robes and into the only normal shirt and jacket that he owned. But his anxiety came back as he reached for his lightsaber, intending to place it with his braid on Bob's bed.

It would be an act of defiance. To shed his braid and lightsaber would make it clear that Phil had rejected his training, the system that had torn him apart from his family for eleven years and made him feel isolated and completely alone. But he couldn't make his fingers unclench from the hilt.

He had never worked for anything like he had when making the saber. For all that it might have surprised the Senators that Phil had to work with, Phil had never struggled with channeling the Force. It came to him as easily as breathing, weaving his way into his actions and mind as the blood in his veins. Piloting had been as simple as running, with all of the potential twists and turns and necessary dives feeling fluid and entirely expected. And his saber work had been much the same, despite his own particular styles' weaknesses. But the point was that Phil had never really had to think about any of it. Suter, to his credit, had made Phil a much better all around Jedi by making him work on the things he wasn't as good at but even then, he only improved.

When the time came to make his saber, Phil likely hadn't needed to put in as much effort as he did. There were plenty of Jedi with plain, simple sabers that did the job just fine for them, but Phil had an image in his mind that he couldn't let go of. After several failed attempts, he finally had it. Sharkskin and leather alternated around the hilt like a candy cane, providing a better grip and extra support for the slightly flexible ore that he'd spent years trying to find. Around the hilt, he'd scratched in tiny three pronged leaves, both for the aesthetic and the extra grip. And inside, the durindefire crystal sat, more slender than the general preferred size but the resulting narrower and slightly whippy plasma blade gave him the exact weapon necessary to accommodate his preferred fencing style of fighting. It required much more concentration to use accurately, but Phil loved every part of the parry and thrust.

The saber ended up in the bottom of his bag, one sacrifice that he couldn't bear to make.

Phil gave himself some credit for not looking back as he slipped out of the room, leather satchel thrown over his shoulder as his tool kit hung from his curled fingers. While Phil had never been much good at subterfuge, he was experienced at trying to not be noticed by anyone, so as he strode through the hallways, no one gave him so much as a second glance. He'd even started to get excited, a little, as he rounded the corner to the staircase that would lead down to the street level.

"Padawan Kessel."

He froze, nausea rising again as he turned. Master Suter looked amused at first, likely looking forward to Phil's excuse about why he'd be trying to get out of Senate work this time, but his face went cold the moment that his eyes landed on Phil's neck where the braid had always hung. "I can explain." Phil said in a rush but Master Suter was striding forward faster than someone with his bulk and age should have been logically able to.

"No. No! Phil, what in the name of Force have you done?" He hissed, hand having moved to the saber at his hip. "The Sith lie, damnit! How many times have I warned you about that?"

Phil backed up as Suter got closer and closer, abandoning his toolkit as he frantically rifled through his bag for his lightsaber. "It's not like that, Bob!" He said with as much emphasis as he could put into it, though fear had tempered what force he might have tried for. For all that Suter was the best and kindest person that Phil had known, he had no love or patience for Jedi who turned to the Dark side.

"Not like that? Your braid is gone, Padawan!" Suter hissed, his blade thrumming to life once Phil's hilt was in his hand. "You have all the talent in the world to do some real good in this world but you're just going to throw that away? Damnit Phil, do you realize that I would be doing the galaxy a favor right now if I killed you instead of letting you turn sides?"

"Master, just let me explain-" He hissed out before have to bring his own blade up to deflect Suter's parry. But Suter advanced, his blade whirling with a speed that Phil had seen many times before, though rarely focused on him. Suter's blade nicked the strap of Phil's satchel and using the distraction of the contents spilling over the ground, he had Phil backed up into a corner before Phil could even to get in a good breath.

Defensive swordplay had always been Suter's specialty, not Phil's. His blade was too flexible to be able to answer to the beatings that a regular beam could take without an issue and besides that, Phil never had the mind for it. Instead, Phil found himself having to advance back. With the satchel off his shoulder, he was able to duck his free hand behind his back and when Suter gave him an opening, he thrusted his blade forward in a neat, quick motion. If he hadn't sparred with his Master so often, it was doubtful that he would have been able to get in close enough to Suter's heart to make him jump back without killing him. But Phil knew Suter's weaknesses as well as his Master knew Phil's and for all that Suter was more experienced, he was the lesser swordsman.

With several well paced thrusts, Phil had forced Suter back. Every movement was on a razor's edge, counting on Suter to not misstep and force Phil to pull his thrusts too harshly, but Suter was moving with everything he had. It took Suter's heel slipping slightly on a tile before Phil was able to get in close enough to disarm his Master with a quick twist of his blade. Suter tried to telekinetically pull his blade back but Phil had already snapped the hilt into his free hand.

Phil had whipped his blade in front of Suter's throat before he'd even registered what he'd done. But his body had worked on instinct and they stared at each other over the silvery blue of Phil's blade. "Amanda and Blake are in Corsucant. My parents died and they're starving, Suter. They need me." He said in a rush, breath coming in fast as sweat threatened to drip into his eyes.

The shocked look on Suter's face made Phil grit his teeth and step forward, making Suter back up in turn as Phil maneuvered over to his downed satchel. "Don't give me that look, Master. They told me that they'd been sending letters. I know that you didn't tell me. I know that I've been lied to."

"I don't know anything about any letters." Suter said, voice too breathy to be a lie and for all of Phil's searching, he couldn't find a tell. "But Padawan, come on. We can get them help, together. Don't throw everything away, you have all the possibility in the world."

Phil pulled the spilled contents of his bag to him as he crouched down to grab his broken satchel, never taking his eyes from Suter. "They need me." He said, fighting a lump in his throat. "They're my brother and sister and I haven't been there for them when they needed me and now I have that chance, right? What good is being a Jedi if I can't take care of them? I'll hate myself for letting them down every damned day."

"Shit." Suter hissed, which would have made Phil laugh at hearing his Master curse. But the look on his face and the pain in it brought Phil up short. His fingers tightened on his satchel. "Padawan, you have to know how dangerous this is. The Order is around for a reason, and that reason is because Jedi on their own turn to the Dark side. It starts with just using it a little, until they start relying on it because it's so tempting, and then they're lost. If you go, you're going to end up with the Sith eventually. I know you're strong. You're a damned good kid, the best I've worked with. But it's inevitable."

When Phil's eyes stung, he tried to tell himself it was from sweat, though he knew better. With careful steps, he backed up to the staircase door and settled Suter's hilt onto the ground next to the doorframe. As he stood, he gave his Master one last look and tried to not let the sorrow in his face affect him too much. "Bob-" He said, voice cracking before he tried again. "Bob, if I turn Sith, I hope you're the one to kill me. And if I don't thank you then, I'll thank you now for doing it. But I gotta do this."

He opened the door behind him and gave his old Master a nod. "Thanks for everything. You took a chance on me, and I'll work my ass off to be worth it."

In one quick motion, he was through the door, blade retracted by the time that he slammed the door closed with his telekinesis. He took the stairs three at a time, barely managing to tuck his hilt into his bag before he was on the streets and running towards Hangar 20A and his family.

The lump never left his throat.

 

* * *

 

 

To Kris' complete surprise, Flower, Duper and their third crewmate, a foul mouthed but hilarious human named Talbo, were actually competent. Duper flew their trash heap of a ship with a deft hand and Flower managed to make the old junker military transporter into a ship that any crew would be proud to dock. Perron had helped Flower in the beginning with the overhaul of the ship, but the hiring and subsequent firings of more competent mechanics continued until Flower managed to sweet talk a blond kid from a backwater slum planet into interstellar adventures. Zatkoff ended up becoming both a competent mechanic and shit talker as well. He even managed to update the AI on the service bot that Flower had managed to 'liberate', meaning that DANA would now comment with exasperated disdain at the state of the crew's laundry on a daily basis, and put up with the generally slovenly state of the ship with good humor.

That kind of attitude was one that seemed to be the most important for everyone who spent any time on the ill named 'Blue Crew Choo Choo'. (Talbo had tried for roughly a year to find a better name but Flower and Duper inevitably ended up turning to the nickname until it stuck) With Flower's intentions of having an actual mercenary crew, Kris had been put in charge of hiring various possibilities from bars all over the Outer and Inner Rims. Some worked and some didn't, the most infamous being Downie, whose habit of getting into constant drunken barfights left him infamously stranded in Tatooine with his backpay.

Kunitz had been one of the first and had meshed in so well that he ended up never leaving. And when Lovejoy and the tall Gungan named Scuds left for other merc groups, they came back despite the minimal payouts that the Blue Crew actually got. Bennett, despite his habit of constantly getting hurt when someone so much as looked at him, ended up sticking around due to little flashes of brilliance that inevitably ended up saving all of their hides. Bones had likely only joined up with them because Perron and he had some Mirakulan solidarity thing happening; Cullen and Fehrsy both agreed that they were done with more dangerous merc groups and had settled in well with the crew. Force only knew how Cole managed to stay unhurt given all of the shit that he threw himself into on a job, but he had all the luck in the world and the crew was unanimously glad for it.

Their jobs were bizarre, even when compared to other merc groups their size. They had done jobs ranging from collecting a rare sap from the XT-414 moon off of Kyrdos (Bennett got stung by an insect that he was horrifically allergic to), escorting a pleasure barge down a river that was surrounded on all sides by territorial Ewoks (Bennett hurt himself by cheering once they'd managed to get out unscathed) and even worked for a Jedi master and his newly ascended former Padawan when a gang threatened peace talks on an out of the way planet. (Bennett and the newly ascended master both ended up with Outer Rim mumps, to no one's surprise. But Kris had been able to fight in the ring again, albeit unexpectedly, and had taken down a Rancor single handedly. So he counted that as a net positive mission).

They even somehow managed to get a Witch to sometimes work with them, though that was sporadic. Hornqvist would simply find them from time to time and announce that it would be best for everyone if he hung around. The first time that it happened, Kris had been completely distrustful and tailed Hornqvist and his apprentice Olli for hours, but when Hornqvist absentmindedly tugged Perron to the side moments before a locker tipped over to the side to land right where Perron had been standing, Kris had learned to suspend his disbelief. By now, Horny and Olli were harbingers of something doomlike, but something that could still be handled. Which was handy.

The crew was a decidedly strange kind of tribe, but it was one that Kris couldn't help but like. His ghosts would return when he was alone in his bunk and halfway to sleep, but their presence hurt less than they did on Jubilar. Whether he was okay with that change or not, Kris couldn't say.

But Perron had been right. It could be worse.

 

* * *

 

 

Blake had been wrong when he said that Amanda was a pretty good pilot. She was incredible. The touch of Force Sensitivity that she had heightened already whip-quick reflexes, and with her eye for where the ship would need to go and a truly incredible sense of depth perception, Phil had run out of things to teach her within a month of their departure from Corsucant and arrival at Cloud City.

Armstrong had owed Phil a favor after Phil had managed to telekintetically keep a falling crane from crushing several millions of credits worth of fine Chiss china, and that favor, along with the sapphire, had been enough to buy passage to Cloud City and the use of an old, worn down sling racer. Blake had also been wrong about being a decent mechanic however, so Phil and Amanda had ended up doing the bulk of the needed repairs on the bike, but by the time they were done, she didn't look pretty but she ran like a champ.

The plan had been for Phil to enter a few races and earn enough money for a better quality bike, but after seeing Amanda fly, and how no one bet on her due to her size, age and gender, Amanda quickly became the main racer in the family. Besides, her shy introversion around cameras looked much better on her than on Phil, who would inevitably try to compensate with strange off color jokes, ‘tch’ noises and ending every thought with ‘right?’. The choice was clear.

Especially since she flew better than him, something that did irk him a bit, but he consoled himself with the fact that he was a better starship pilot. This was due to the fact that Amanda had never flown a starship, at least to his knowledge, but it was something.

Within months, her earnings had been enough to get them an actual apartment, albeit a tiny one in which Amanda got the bedroom and Blake and Phil had the distinct pleasure of two cots in the living room, but they all agreed that it was far better than living in a tent in an abandoned hangar. Blake had managed to busy himself with becoming Amanda’s agent, snagging her a few small endorsements and higher billing on a few races within weeks, while Amanda worked on her flying and managed to find friends with the female racing population in the city with relative ease.

Phil was happy for them. He really was. But between mechanic jobs that he wasn’t fantastic at but could manage and the occasional job flying a mining barge, he couldn’t help the itch of boredom that had settled under his skin. It seemed that his day was nothing but sitting and waiting for his inevitable change to becoming a Sith lord and if that had to happen, it seemed distinctly unfair that he should have to be bored in the meantime.

He’d been bored as a Jedi, of course. The incredibly boring Senate sessions had made him wish for death at times but at least he had the knowledge that after everything, he could probably manage to get Padawan Toews to train with their sabers or get Wheelsy to let him chauffeur a few dignitaries and then take their ship out for a joyrun in while the dignitaries pontificated and discussed business matters, or whatever important people did. Besides, Suter usually managed to gauge Phil’s peak boredom and get them onto a mission.

But this was different.

He’d been working as Amanda’s pit crew one day when Colby wandered over with a too large smile on his face. “Heeeey, how’s my favorite defector?”

Phil grimaced a bit, preferring to keep that bit of information out of public knowledge. But he answered back gamely, “Well enough, I guess. Amanda’s doing good.”

“She is.” Colby said with a nod as he looked up to the race just in time to see Amanda pull off a beauty of a corkscrew dive to lose the racer on her tail. “You realize that she could go interstellar with that talent, right?”

“Of course.” He scoffed. “She’s fucking brilliant. A natural.”

“You guys going to go for it? The money is good.”

He wrinkled his nose, scratching idly at the beard that he’d decide to grow on a whim and found that he liked, despite the itchiness. “Yeah, the money’s great, but it’s a big investment to get to the point where the big endorsements come in. And after getting her the new bike? No way we could manage it right now with that thing, she’d get blown out of the water.”

Colby nodded, before saying too calmly, “You could get a job.”

“Yeah, driving a barge or something. Force only knows I’m not really the type to do all that well in the hospitality business.”

Colby nodded slowly, before saying in a calm even voice, “You could do that. But you know what brings in the real good money?”

“What.”

“Smuggling.”

Phil snorted and gave his head a small shake. “That works real well when I don’t have a starship. Somehow I doubt that Amanda’s racer would do too well. Besides, I don’t wanna get involved with gross shit, right?”

“The ‘gross shit’ already has plenty of smugglers willing to move it. The pay is too good and besides, you don’t see free agents getting access to the big money runs like that. Now, general black market luxury goods to places that have embargos? That’s were the good free agent money is, but no one wants to have to go through the asteroid fields.” Colby said easily, as though he was commenting on the weather.

“Asteroid fields are a piece of cake. It’s the areas with mines that are the pains in the ass.”

“Asteroid fields are only a piece of cake to guys that have been trained in how to go through them at a good clip.” Colby corrected, “And they’re even easier for guys that are Force Sensitive. Like, oh I don’t know, defected Jedi?”

Phil tried to hide his interest. He really did mean to play coy. But he was terrible at that kind of thing, so he grumbled, “What are you saying, Colby?”

“You help me out, I’ll help you out. I have a ship that’s gathering dust in my hangar, a two seater, that’s not big enough to be a barge but too big to be used for day to day travel. She’s practically an antique but she runs. I have three runs that Burke hired me for ages ago and my best smuggler got himself killed and if I don’t get those runs done, I am royally fucked contract wise. You get those runs done in a week and the ship is yours.”

“Where to?”

“Bethen, through the Caracas field. I’ve got a map for a route through it already.”

“You’re kidding me.” Phil shook his head. “Not possible without a copilot to handle the easy stretches so I can get some sleep.”

“Good thing I happen to know a guy who’s looking for a partner to fly with and desperate enough to do this kind of thing as a tryout.”

Phil blinked and rubbed his hands together, considering the options. “I’ll get back to you tonight. This ship, she can make the three runs without any big repairs?”

“Well enough.” Colby said with a grin. “Good doing business with you, Phil.”

“I haven’t said yes.”

“You will.”

And damn him but Colby was right. Blake and Amanda had all but shoved him out the door and wished him luck, proving that his antsiness had been that obvious, and when Phil checked the ship out, he could see the bones of something promising. She was definitely a relic and wouldn’t have all the perks that would make flying her truly easy, but that also meant that she wouldn’t be a target for pirates. And the structure was sound enough that with a few upgrades, her get-up-and-go could be something surprising.

The copilot Colby knew was also a surprise. Bozie was an Ocsinin, a strange sight in Cloud City and while his solid black eyes were a bit disconcerting at first, he was shockingly easy to get along with. And if he wasn’t the best pilot Phil had worked with, he was definitely good enough.

The best part of it all, by a wide margin, had been the actual trips through the asteroid belts. With the paranoia that Suter’s words had left him with, Phil had shut himself off from the Force as neatly as he could, not calling it forward for bad or good things. And while it was effective, he couldn’t stand the empty ache that sometimes seemed to howl for him. But in the asteroids, with his mind blank and his body working in practiced, precise movements, he let that spot in him open again.

It was like coming home. The Force filled him from his toes to the ends of his hair and he could flow with it, dancing around the asteroids as if they weren’t even there, and he was simply following a choreographed dance through space. If he’d cried after the first run through the fields, Bozie hadn’t mentioned it, but Phil had felt the tear tracks on his cheeks.

Between smuggling and his siblings and the new friends he had slowly managed to cultivate in the smuggling world, Phil began to grow a life that was about him and not about an outdated Order. He was free, finally he had autonomy.

And if he snuck away at times to run through drills with his lightsaber, no one else had to know that at his heart, Phil still somehow knew that he was a Jedi.

 

* * *

 

 

Sidney was sure he going to sick. There was no way to deny it, not after what Master Lemieux had told him. But he had not passed the Trials of Knighthood at 19 to be sick now. As he tightened his grip on his lightsaber, he counted their steps on the marble floor and used the monotony to clear his mind, one piece at a time. Still, it seemed too soon that they were at the doors leading to the balcony. Lemieux's jaw was set and he only gave Sid a cursory look.

"Ready?"

"Ready."

The stone doors flew open from the force of Master Lemieux's telekinetic push, cracking back against the temple walls. The wind from the jungle moon blew hot and humid, whistling across the stone balcony like a wild thing from the trees down below, but the broad hooded figure at the balcony edge showed no sign of concern. His black robes rose and fell with each gust.

"Jagr." Mario called out over the howling wind. "These theatrics are a little bit too much, don't you think?"

Sid blinked in surprise at Mario, not exactly having expected for an epic battle over good and evil to take that kind of turn, but the Figure only chuckled as he turned and began to stride towards them. As he lowered his hood, Mario breathed in sharply and Sid could understand why.

Master Jagr had always cut an intimidating figure. He could be laughing or joking around with the other Knights but Sid would still be a little wary. He'd been a child then so he excused his actions that way, but in seeing Jagr now, that fear threatened to creep up again. His hair was still impossibly thick and curly, fanning out over his neck in the type of cut that no one but Jagr ever seemed to look good. And while the years had lent Lemieux's face a sense of dignity, Jagr somehow managed to look more feral.

"Oh Jagr." Lemieux said, voice soft with pain. "Your eyes."

"Such bad manners!" Jagr said, tsking at him. "No one calls me that anymore. You know my new name, yes?"

When Lemieux didn't say a word, Jagr shook his head as he took another step forward, leaving him just outside of lightsaber range. "You can't say Darth Prodigus? I think it is a good name. It suits me much better."

"I will never call you by that name." Lemieux snapped as he looked down at the Sith. "You made a terrible, stupid, pointless mistake and I will never accept these delusions of yours. How can you be this blind, Jagr? Stealing the artifact and beginning this idiotic crusade of yours, you must be delusional. There is no reason for any of this."

"No reason?" Darth Prodigus hooted out a laugh as he gave a condescending shake of his head. "Don't play stupid, it doesn't suit you. You, out of anyone, know why I'm doing this. You have been such a good inspiration, truly. Have you told your little shadow yet? Or did you let your precious Code fall to the side for him? That would be the only reason I could see for him to follow you still. Now that he's, what, a year away from the Trials?"

"Three." Sid snapped in annoyance and to his credit, he managed to keep his face steely when Jagr looked over in delight.

"Three! You must be so proud, Lemieux. Tell me, Padawan Crosby. Has your Master changed at all? Is he still making promises of changing the world and that you'll do everything together? If I know him, or course he has! And I'll also bet that once you have a chance for that, he turns tail and runs like a scared child. Does that sound right?" Jagr’s lip curled up in a sneer at his own words.

"Don't talk to him." Lemieux snapped to Jagr, face stormy as he took a slow step forward. "You're here trying to get my attention, aren't you? You have it."

"Oh Lemieux, I always have." Prodigus said with a quiet purr. "Listen to us, wasting time talking when we could be fighting. We are the Knights we used to hate, aren't we? But yes, I will get to my point. This is your last chance, old friend. Join me. We can tear the Order down, once and for all. We can free the Jedi who are in shackles as the High Council runs their lives from their ivory tower."

"I am not the stupid child who used to humor you." Lemieux said, voice even and cool. "I will never stop fighting the Sith. And that will never change."

Prodigus let out a breath as he shook his head and took a step back. "I tried." He said simply before bowing to Lemieux in a crisp, practiced moment. And then, fast as anything, his saber was in his hand as he leapt forward with a speed that was startling, even to Sid.

But Lemieux had not been caught unawares as he brought up his cerulean blade to block Prodigus', a look of sorrow crossing over his face. "Your blade." He murmured, "It's orange. The gold is fading already?"

"The power of Sith is great." Prodigus said with a wry smile. "Don't you know, friend? Nothing gold can stay. I look forward to the day my blade is red, it will suit me fine."

"Not if I have anything to say about it." Lemieux hissed and in a blink of an eye, the fight had begun.

In any other circumstance, Sid would have joined Lemieux in the rush. They fought with complimenting styles, Lemieux's reach and strength working well with Sid's speed and agility. But Lemieux had been firm before that this fight was his and his alone, and out of respect, Sid hung back. But it was difficult.

When Sid had seen Jagr fight, years earlier, his style had been amazingly fun to watch, full of joy and spirit. But as Prodigus, that joyous energy had sharpened into something deadly. For all of Mario's strength, Prodigus was stronger, defying any attempts to have his saber knocked out of it's swing or from the strong grip in his hands. And while his swing was still inferior in comparison to Lemieux's, their speed was so similar that it was impossible to see who was cleaner and sharper with their movements. But what made Jagr so damned dangerous was the improvements he'd made to his feints. Lemieux had to work twice as hard to keep his defenses up because Prodigus would send all signs that he would attack from one angle and then shift to come up from another. And the feints continued to change, leaving his swordplay completely unreadable.

They were just as dazzling to watch as Sid remembered from years ago and he almost found himself hypnotized by the savage beauty of it, until Prodigus leapt back and with a grin, and engaged a second blade from the opposite end of his saber. Mario was breathing hard as he gave Sid a curt nod, and like one mind, they moved to put Prodigus down.

Sid was his clear target and it was only his speed, lower body strength, and Lemieux's wits that kept Prodigus off of him. But as he opened his mind to the Force, it responded, and suddenly the possibilities in the fight seemed so simple and easy to exploit as he worked with Lemieux to force Prodigus back further and further towards the balcony. Dark clouds had begun to boil in the sky, promising one of the daily drenching downpours integral to the jungle and then thunder clapped, Prodigus made his move.

Sid was alone against Prodigus in an instant, too busy trying to defend against the twin blades, and he couldn't spare a moment to think of where Lemieux could be. It wasn't until his feet had left the ground and his body was swung like a ragdoll to the air above the balcony rail that he was able to see Lemieux prone on the ground, a wicked smoking wound on his chest right above his heart. Sid could feel the weak, rapidly humming thread of Lemieux's own connection to the Force, but it was a delicate thing.

He pushed with his own telekinesis as he desperately trying to overpower Jagr's invisible hold over him, but his mind couldn't clear enough, not with his Master clearly dying in front of him. In his struggles, his lightsaber fell into the jungle below, and he let out a loud choking groan as the telekinetic grip around him tightened.

"I tried, Mario." Prodigus said, voice almost sorrowful as he looked over to where Lemieux lay on the stone floor. "And I'll continue to try. I'll fix what's broken in this world, I can promise that to you."

Lemieux's head shook from side to side as he tried to sit up. "Jaro, Jaro. Please, put Sidney d-down, I beg you."

Prodigus let out a deep sigh as he looked to Sidney and gave him a quick wave. "Who am I to deny an old friend's wish?" He said as the hold around Sidney's chest slipped away.

He'd never known that falling would happen so quickly. But in a flash he could feel the sting of leaves on his face, and it was all the he could do to push down with his telekinesis to try and soften his fall. But in a blink, he felt the flicker of Lemieux's connection snap irrevocably, blinding pain of the ground as he landed and, blissfully, the world went dark.

 

* * *

 

 

Geno was a Mandalorian. He was, in fact, a very good Mandalorian. Bounty hunting had been an easy choice for him, much to the disappointment of Gonch, who preferred to work with a group in one of the Mandalorian mercenary squads. But Geno liked that his work was always different. And it was satisfying to be able to go do his own thing, outthink and outfight everyone in his path to accomplish his goal.

Geno couldn't complain. Especially after he'd just completed a nice bounty by picking off a former gang leader, who'd decided to run off with the few goons still loyal to him and hide on a backwater moon near Cloud City. The goons hadn't been any match for Geno's gun and hadn't bothered an attempt to outthink his strategy, and with the man dead and the proof sent, it was a pleasure to be able to decompress a bit with a nice walk through the jungle. He'd been enjoying himself and when he heard a large crash come from the north, he let his curiosity guide him over.

The first strange part of it all had been the sight of an unlit lightsaber in the middle of a pile of brush. He glanced up to the Temple that loomed above the trees but the rain obscured his sight as it trickled through the trees and onto his visor. Without any answers, he simply shrugged and pocketed the lightsaber. Ovi would appreciate it as a present, he was sure.

He couldn't say what he had expected the crash to have come from. But he could say with a certainty that he had not expected to see a Jedi lying in clearing that was apparently new, the foliage around him pushed away and a small crater under him. Like any trained Mandalorian, Geno's blaster was in his hand in the blink of an eye, he could hear the whirr of the cybernetics in his helmet as he approached.

The Jedi was a human, a man who seemed to be around Geno's age and surprisingly lacking any kind of Padawan braid. According to the vitals reader in Geno's armor, he was alive but just barely, the system indicating a severe blow to the head. The fact he was alive at all was a surprise, given the extent of damage, but from what Geno knew from Ovi and Gonch, who'd each killed Jedi before, they were a resilient bunch.

He moved forward with more care than many would have expected him to be capable of, given his height. But Geno was not a Mandalorian for nothing. As he picked through his options, the idea that putting the man out of his misery would be kindest kept rearing its head. Geno had a medkit with a neurostim but truthfully, the man wouldn't be able to use it on himself so there was no use in just leaving it within reach. However simply shooting the man seemed kindest, he kept holding himself off.

The fact that he jumped a little when the man stirred was, frankly, embarrassing. And something he would deny till he was blue in the face. But the groan had surprised him, though not as much as the sight of the man opening his eyes and croaking out, "Help me. Please, please please please, help me. I need your help, please."

Geno considered this development and asked in Mandalorian, "What happened?". After a moment, his mask translated the words and repeated him in a tinny tone, and Geno watched as the man shakily pointed upwards towards the temple. "Pushed. Please, please help. I-" He coughed, face contorting with pain as he somehow tried to push himself up, and flopped down to the dirt when he failed. "I'll do anything. I have to stop this war and I am the only one who can stop it, you have to believe me."

With his day having to taken a distinctly bizarre turn, Geno decided that he may as well play along. He pulled his medkit out of his bag as he tossed it over, unleashing his pocket sized medical droid as an afterthought. The man caught the medkit neatly out of the air, though the shudder that went over him indicated that the act had been a painful one. Geno watched as he opened the medkit, quickly snagged the neurostim as he pressed the tube against his neck, and pushed the fluid in, his actions making it clear that he was familiar with the action.

"We're at war?" Geno asked wryly as the medical droid poked and prodded at the Jedi.

"Yes." Sidney rasped as he helplessly swatted at the droid. "Well. Not now. But we will be. I am Sidney Crosby of the Jedi order, former Padawan of Master Lemieux-" His delirious face fell at that, but he gamely continued. "He left holocrons. Proof that needs to go to the High Council, there's a conspiracy and it's - it's bad. If it's not stopped, the Sith will get bigger. Please, you have to - to help me, I need to get to the Prophet of Fallanossi, you have to help." Sid muttered, his voice having grown more and more quiet as the sedative effect of the neurostim kicked in, finally flopping to the dirt.

To say that Geno was baffled was to put it lightly. The situation seemed like something out of Ovi's terrible books, featuring a handsome Jedi Knight who was on an epic quest to save the galaxy. It would have been laughable if it wasn't also completely intriguing. And so, Geno made the decision to sit down near the Jedi - Sidney, he corrected himself, remove his helmet, and settle in to do a little research on his tablet.

After an hour and a half, during which Geno decided to use his expando-tent over the two of them to avoid having to deal with the rain, Sidney began to move. He sat up slowly, still in a daze as he stared at the neat bandages the medical droid had applied over the nicks and cuts on his arm. Geno bit his lip to keep from laughing when the Knight saw Geno and marvelled, "You're real."

"Am real, yes." Geno agreed amiably.

"Who are you." Sidney asked, eyes still groggy from the sedative.

"Am Geno." He said with his best personable grin. "Will go with you to Prophet. Sounds interesting. And big bounty on Prophet so is worth it."

"You can't kill him." Sid muttered as he settled back onto the ground. "I need him."

"I kill when you don't need." Geno said firmly. "Is fine."

Sidney stared at Geno for a long while, jaw dropped slightly as he tried to to comprehend. When he finally dropped back into the ground and into a slumber, Geno just laughed as he turned back to his tablet.

This was going to be an interesting adventure.

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to Tumblr's new IM update because without it, I highly doubt @letangier and I would have become COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY OBSESSED with this. @letangier is basically my co producer, editor, inspiration, cheerleader and the Phil to my Bozie. If you would like to see some goddamned gorgeous art, you should check her out on tumblr because she is dope.
> 
> You can also find me at tumblr, @purekesseltrash. There you can see me talk about how Phil Kessel makes me cry when PMSing and how it is pure and simple fact that goalies are the best humans on this earth and that French Canadian goalies are gods among men.
> 
> Feel free to talk to either of us, we're pretty chill people. Unless you're gonna troll her about Sidney Crosby or oil paints or troll me about Robert Luongo because we just will NOT stand for that. Also, if you have ~*opinions*~ on what races your faves should be, I would be most amused to hear y'alls thoughts.


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